


Vows

by ddagent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Three months after wedding Renly Baratheon, Queen Brienne's marriage remains unconsummated. She seeks solace – and pleasure – with Lord Commander Jaime Lannister.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 62
Kudos: 303





	Vows

**Author's Note:**

> agirlnamedkeith, and quite a few people, wanted to see Queen!Brienne and LC!Jaime's first time. This is *sort* of that. Like I say with all my paragraph prompts: be careful what you wish for. 
> 
> For those unfamiliar with my Lord Commander verse, this is an offshoot of my Queen!Brienne story 'Head, Hand, Heart'. Jaime does not become her Hand; instead, he becomes her Lord Commander. They both develop feelings as Brienne is wed to Renly. For more of this verse, please see my prompt collection 'Cubs and Gemstones'. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Brienne had not stepped foot on Tarth since she was fourteen: her third betrothal had ended in a bloody fashion, and her father had dispatched her to Winterfell to learn the meaning of _duty. _Four years later, and she had been made Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not much had changed in the intervening time. The water was still blue. The sand was still soft underneath her feet. In truth, she was still the same. Still ugly, still unwanted. Still a maid. Whilst she had become the respected warrior she had always dreamed of being, the girl who had dreamed of the old stories had wanted love, too. 

She had it, she supposed, in a fashion. 

Ser Jaime walked beside her along the beach; the tide drawing in. They walked barefoot, her arm clutched to his. A rare moment of contact between Lord Commander and Queen. She bumped his side, enjoying his easy smile at her presence. _Gods, I love you. _“How are you enjoying my island, Ser Jaime?”

“It’s beautiful. The colour of the water is only rivalled by your eyes.”

Brienne snorted. “You should write poetry, Ser.”

“_Ah, _but who would I write them to?” Ser Jaime swallowed; ducking his head. “May I say something that I hope will not cause offence?” 

“You could never cause offence.” 

He thought upon her words for a moment, before he spoke. “I’m glad Prince Renly remained in King’s Landing. I’m glad that it’s just the two of us again.” 

She beamed. “Me too. Can I tell _you_ a secret?” 

Jaime grinned, nudging closer to her as they walked across the sand. “Of course. I’ve vowed to keep your counsel. What is it?” 

Brienne leant closer, as if afraid she was to be overheard. “Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like I’m married. I rarely see Renly; he’s too busy in Court, and _never _comes to my chambers. We’ve been wed three months and I’m still a maid. I fear I’ll die one.” 

“You won’t.”

She snorted and paused their procession. Brienne took in a deep sigh as she looked at Ser Jaime. “If my own husband won’t touch me, whoever will?” 

“Perhaps a man who is utterly devoted to you. Who is grateful for any touch you would bestow, especially something so intimate.” Ser Jaime took her hand, then, and pressed his lips to the bridge of her knuckles. “Who would be _honoured _to take you to bed.” 

“Ser Jaime—”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. All too quickly he was pulling away. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Did you mean it?” 

The hope in her voice was unmistakable. The thought of Jaime wanting to— Brienne could not fathom it. Jaime's nod, however, was all too real. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About touching you.”

The world was spinning too fast. They had begun this walk with her feelings unrequited; now it appeared that she was not alone in her pining. “But...your vows,” was all she could manage to say. 

“To take no wife; to father no children.” Jaime took her hand once again, leaving a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her fingers brushed his cheek, gasping at the prickle of his stubble. “If you want me, _desire me, _we can be together in a way that will break neither of our vows. But only if that is what you want.”

_Oh_, how she wanted. Her affections for Ser Jaime – _Jaime _– had only grown in the months since her ascension. Marrying Renly had been the dream of that fourteen-year-old girl who had stood on this very sand and longed to stay on Tarth rather than head north. Jaime was the dream of the woman, the warrior, the _Queen. _But that dream, unlike her husband, was a reality. She clasped Jaime’s face in her hands and rested her forehead against his. 

“I want you.” 

Jaime's lips were soft against hers. As tentative as Renly’s had been that day in the Sept; her first kiss. But Jaime's mouth grew firmer; his touch bolder. His right arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against him as his tongue pressed to the seam of her lips. _Oh, this is what it feels like to be desired. _Jaime allowed no air to pass between them; no moment to pass when he wasn’t kissing her. Her fingertips carded through his hair; the soft golden strands she had longed to caress. 

He keened against her, pausing briefly to speak, “Your chambers, Brienne.”

“A good idea. Sand gets everywhere.”

Jaime raised a single eyebrow, but did not question her further. Instead, Brienne led him from the dunes and up the rickety staircase; through a secret entrance into Evenfall Hall. She knew her castle like the freckles on her arms, and escorted them both to her chambers without passing a soul. As soon as the door was closed, Jaime was kissing her again. 

He stopped long enough to nuzzle her throat, leaving a kiss to the bare skin. “Can I undress you?”

“_Yes.”_

_This _was how her wedding night should have been. A man of good-standing, a man she _loved, _desperate to remove her clothing. Jaime unfastened the buttons of her tunic with reverence, sliding the fabric from her shoulders. The muslin undershirt quickly joined her tunic on the floor. Brienne knew her breasts were small; hardly of interest to most men. But, as Jaime had reminded her on several occasions, there were no men like him. 

“If I do something you don’t like, you tell me, yes?” 

She nodded. “Yes.”

His hands ran over the broad length of her shoulders; caressing her arms until she squirmed. His hand held her neck, stealing a soft kiss from her lips, whilst the other brushed her breast. She gasped against his mouth. Jaime cupped her breast in his hand; his thumb bringing her nipple to a stiff peak. Her body flushed with heat. Jaime repeated his ministrations to the other breast. When she was trembling in his arms, Jaime’s fingers moved to the ties of her breeches. 

“I—” Jaime hesitated, seemingly unsure of his words. “Trust me.”

“With my life.” 

He removed her breeches, boots and smallclothes. Suddenly Brienne was naked in front of a man for the very first time. He didn’t shield his eyes in horror. He didn’t snuff out the candles. Instead, Jaime’s gaze roamed across her body; teeth tugging at his bottom lip. 

“Come with me to the bed.” 

Brienne took Jaime’s offered hand as he led her to the large four-poster bed. He positioned her at the edge, his firm hands spreading her legs. She felt her cheeks flame; a hot blush engulfing her skin. Jaime grinned before pressing his lips to her cheeks, then her neck; the top of her breasts. Kneeling between her legs, he took an erect nipple in his mouth and sucked. 

“Gods, _Jaime.”_

Smirking, he moved to the other breast and swirled his tongue around the tip. Brienne was unsure what to do with her hands; should she touch Jaime, or keep them firm upon the bed? He took pity on her and reached for her hands, guiding them to his head; Brienne immediately threading her fingers through his hair. She touched him, stroked him, as his lips made a path to the blonde thatch covering her cunt. She’d heard word of this in the rebel camp, but had never thought she would ever experience such things. 

Jaime looked up between her open thighs as if he had just won a winners purse at a tourney. “I’m going to touch you with my fingers, Brienne. Then I’m going to put my mouth on you. There’s no one outside, but try not to scream the castle down.”

“You seem sure of yourself, Ser.”

“I’m not the one who’s soaking wet, Your Grace.” His teeth nipped at her inner thigh. Her hips bucked. “Enjoy yourself, Brienne. I am.” 

And then his fingers, calloused from years of swordplay, were touching her. His thumb brushed her clit; the spot she had sought so often with her own hand. His fingers glided through slick wetness; one moving gently inside her. Brienne longed to lie back, let the sensation of being touched – _of being touched by Jaime – _overwhelm her. Instead, she sat, back straight, and watched as Jaime bent his head towards her cunt. His tongue replaced his thumb on her clit, and a guttural moan fell from her lips. 

It did not take long for Brienne to find her release. Jaime’s tongue swirling in ever-decreasing circles around her clit; his finger, then two, slowly moving in and out of her. It was all too much. She came, repeating his name like a prayer. Jaime eased her back against the bed, brushing damp strands of blonde hair from her face. 

Again, Jaime looked as if he wished to say something. Instead, he took her lips in the sweetest of kisses. Brienne had never felt more loved. If only Jaime was her husband. 


End file.
